


What if he lived?

by oldladyj12733



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), medical drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2019-11-05 15:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17921207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldladyj12733/pseuds/oldladyj12733
Summary: Lead Triage starts yelling at Doc: severe crush injuries to the neck, jaw, collar bones: internal bleeding, fluid in the lungs...Doc replied with, why did you bring me a corpse?   "He is still warm" Lead Triage replied with a harried smirk, handing his charge off to Doc and medic.





	1. Chapter 1

There was the sounds of a scuffle then feet pounding down the hall, Medic got up to see what was up and was pushed out of the way by a gurney. Triage was working while running, they had intubated the patient and they were soundly strapped to a immobilization board. Lead Triage starts yelling at Doc: severe crush injuries to the neck, jaw, collar bones: internal bleeding, fluid in the lungs...  
Doc replied with, why did you bring me a corpse? "He is still warm" Lead Triage replied with a harried smirk, handing his charge off to Doc and medic. 

They were working furiously connecting monitors, pumps and re-generators. They really didn't have the resources to waste on this unknown, but it wasn't in their nature to not at least try. If they get him stable, she thought, he would be the first known survivor of Thanos. 

The patient opened his eyes, Doc was asleep where she stood leaning against the wall where she had been watching the patient's monitors. The room was dimly lit with pools of cool white light over workstations and beds. The room was sleek but old, having wear marks on the furnishings where many years worth of hands have gripped or wheels rubbed. He tried to swallow and felt the tube in his throat, panic started to rise, he jerked his arms up to remove the tube and found them restrained. He went into full panic. Doc noticed his struggle, quickly adjusting something on her terminal by the monitor.  
As calmly as she could she says, You survived having your neck crushed but just barely, you are mobilized to help you heal, I'm going to sedate you now.  
He fought the heaviness of his eyes struggling to stay awake, he faded out.

Doc swore and kicked the ancient machine. It was an Asgardian soul forge, older then f-ing time. It worked when it wanted to and no other time. This Survivor would really benefit from it now, she willed the relic to work. The lights in the ward dimmed and translucent red light created a cube above the soul forge's bed, she slid her patent from the gurney to the bed. The motes that denoted his body came into view. She had to work lightning fast, this damned thing would cut out at any time. She saw the crushed bones of the neck, somehow already healing she willed the shards of bone back into place with a wave, so the body could make use of them. His throat and lungs were already healed as were his collar bones. She was shocked, it had been barely 4 hours since they pulled this person from space. "What is this guy?" she said out-loud in disbelief.  
Just then, she saw a foreign object in his chest. Squinting she waved her hands toward it among the red dust motes of the forge. It looked like a cord or loop of rope tied to itself in an intricate knot. She put her hand under it, hoping to get some data though the forge's sensors. 

The lights came on to full brightness and the red motes fell, the cube disappearing. Left in her hand was a knot of cord. She swore, there was the squeak of skin on low friction surface and the meaty thud of feet hitting the ground. Her patient had turned from a 6 plus foot tall, vaguely Xandarian shaped person into a 8 plus foot tall very blue humanoid. F-ing shapeshifters. She exclaimed.

She knew the sedatives weren't going to work just based on size. She wondered if she should restrain him. Instead she called in the sturdiest orderly, a Kodabak, she had and called in a Xenobiologist to try to figure out want her patient is. Although she could just wait and ask. She sighed and cursed the Lead Triage for the 3rd time that day. 

Their ship was leaving the area where her patient was found. From the rubble they learned it had been a asgardian vessel. No other survivors had been found but there had been some good scrap, fuel resources and supplies. They were not well loved in the galaxy. The nicest way they were refereed to was "The Cleaners". Not a species, but a space-faring community of otherwise homeless peoples. Many families had been on ship for generations and claimed no other heritage then their homeship. The ship itself was enormous, it had been a generational colony ship from some great age passed. Its vast halls included not just homes and recycling facilities but schools, farms, communal spaces. Merchants, artists, medics all had a niche here. Each floor being a bit like a neighborhood. Of these, the newer citizens often hunkered together by race but that rarely lasted more than a few generations. The government was vaguely socialist, each person could always have school, food, housing, and medical care, although the quality of such was based on your hustle. All laws are boil down to, don't be greedy and don't be a dick and the punishment for crime is being put off ship. Its shockingly peaceful, given the diversity. 

People came to the Cleaners for various reasons, not having anywhere else to go seemed to be the big one. Followed by loving the "wrong" person, and then fleeing a life best forgotten. No one is turned away but those who couldn't follow the laws or didn't like the life style were put out quick. Cleaners like their peace and don't take "war lording" or "mafia" threats lightly.

The Doc herself was born on ship, she is Xandarian in appearance. She's been a medic for this floor for about 15 years. In all those years she has not seen anything like her patient. They had a bed sent up from a floor were 8ft tall people is more typical. She smirked, she had wanted to transfer him down there but they had refused. This was her problem.  
"Doc" the orderly grunted and gestured toward the patient. He was stirring. He was almost healed, changing size and shape had set his neck's healing back a day or so but he was still healing startlingly fast. 

His eyes opened to slits, he blinked a few times. He was hot and uncomfortable, he felt pain in his neck, the rest of him felt stretched, sore like the day after physical exertion. A small person walked into his field of vision. He blinked again trying to focus. This mind was slow and his body slower to respond. He opened his mouth to say something and just croaked.  
"Welcome back to the land of the living", said Doc. The orderly approached then as well, a little worried for Doc. His blue compound eyes staring into the red of the patient's.

Doc checked his vitals as the patient lifted his arms and wiggled his toes. He opened his mouth, croaking again. The orderly handed him a pouch of water. Slowly, like the pouch was a moving target the patient captured it and brought the straw to his mouth. His eyes where strobing, it was doubtful he was all in there yet. He finished his pouch and opened his mouth, this time a dry yet cultured voice asked "am I a prisoner"?

The orderly grunts and put his hands on his hips, in a Xandarian pose, he wonders what kind of life this guy was coming from given his hidden form and this question. Most beings would ask where they are, where their compatriots are, but this struck him as a story in the making.


	2. illustration

Doc and the orderly


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'll keep all my emotions right here, and then one day, I'll die"   
> \- John Mulaney (and Loki)
> 
> also, housekeeping and boring worldbuilding.

Doc looked up from her chart. brow cocked at the question. She signed out a "No", but I'm not ready to discharge you yet.   
He replied with "so that is a yes"  
"Provisionally" grunted the ordery.

The survivor's eyes darted around the room. He was still under the effect of sedation and likely to make bad decisions. Doc sighed, she walked up to the head of the bed. People here call me Doc, the big pink guy over there is Yode. Care to introduce yourself? Perhaps save the Xenobio guy a trip up-floor and tell me about yourself? 

His red eyes strobed in Doc's general direction. You may call me Serrure.  
As to what people I'm from, I claim no heiritage but Asgard, but it is only a memory now.   
Dramatic, Yode snorted  
Too soon, Doc shushed  
Serrure gave him a sour look. 

They fed him, prepped him for release. Doc asked him if he had anywhere to go, she could request a transport, within reason, or should she could request a room and basic kit from the quartermaster. He could stay at the clinic for a few more days but she'd imagined he might like a bath and some privacy.   
He gave her a "haven't you been listening look" and she said, "right" I'll go request a room. One thing, will you be staying 8 foot tall or is the 6ft form your standard? It makes a difference for the room size and cloths. 

He had been fourious about his form since he opened his eyes earlier but even in his drugged state he wouldn't betray himself like that. They where not entitled nor worthy of his birthright or his shame. That world was gone, all oppressors dead. It was exhilarating and maddening that no one knew him. Unless he happened by earth, and then would they recognise this form?

This form will serve, he delivered dryly.

His multi-pass had arrived by runner, who also supplied him with a tablet full of the by laws, maps, welcome material and don't forget the forms...so many forms.  
He ended up in the same ward as Yode. Doc sent him on his way, Yode walking with him. The orderly wasn't a big talker but curiosity was eating him up. Down the hall, 3rd lift form the lamp, 5 floors down. It was a nice residential floor. High ceilings and pleasant lighting. Serrure glanced up, there were birds?   
Each cluster of apartments faced a courtyard, if he had been from earth he would have thought these looked like Hopi dwellings. He checked his map; 23rd cluster, 2nd ring, red door?   
He starts walking counting the clusters.   
Yode grunted at 12, This is me, but I'll walk you to yours.   
They walked on. Yode curiose and stoic, Serrure controlled and unreadable. They arrived. It looked much like the others they had passed, there was a palm in the courtyard, it could serve as a landmark. He rounded to the 2nd ring, found the red door and used his pass in the lock.

It opened with a soft frictive hiss. Dust danced. He stepped in and the lights came on welcomingly. He turn to Yode and abruptly said, dismissed! Yode smirked, "Fine, sure. Find me at 3rd bell if you'd like a guide to the mess or some other places. If I don't see you, have a nice life. Yode left. The door hissed shut, Serrure turned toward the opposing wall, facade of calm crumbling, screamed and threw his hands up. He crumpled to his knees sobbing. No one knew him. He cackled joylessly looking at his hands, his legs, knowing that his eyes are red. He sobbed more. 

He must have sobbed himself into unconsciousness. He was on the floor of his living area, just inside the door. By the Norn's I am tired. He stood, pulling himself together. This could work, he could make anyplace work. Had he not been king? Hadn't he risen up in the ranks of Sakhar? Had he not survived the destruction of so much? This this would be easy. 

He gave his dwelling a cursory glance, living area and kitchen combined, "Bigger than my cell" 3 doors, one out, one to a sleeping alcove and one to the bathroom. The kit supplied marked; humanoid, #Z08.  
5 sets of underthings, 3 pairs of drawstring pants, tunics and a robe, among other things. He sneered at the lack of style. What he thought had been a clinic uniform was actually standard kit. He went to the bathroom, pointedly not looking at the small dusty mirror. Nothing was luxurious, at least he could wash. There were 2 towels, 2 washcloths. He was honestly terrified of being naked. He was not just unfamiliar with this form, it disgusted him. He stuffed the feeling down. That emotional crisis would have to wait. I am in hiding, this form hides me well. He washed quickly and redressed.   
He tossed the remainder of his kit on the bed in the sleeping alcove. He tore the pillow and blanket from their plastic film and retrieved the tablet. 

Pulling up the map he memorized the important areas of the ward, the "cultural note" informed him that his ward was called the Giant's' Causeway. The food dispensary, garment exchange, mess hall, employment office. 

Gaw, how banal. How perfunctory. How proletarian!! Gross. This place had no style. He roundly ignored the flashing forms. Throwing the tablet on to the bed he paced around the space. How would he spin this to his benefit? Why was he still alive? How was he going to live without the love-hate of his brother? He felt the a wave of emotion thunder up into a towering wave. Not now he yelled to himself, the emotions turned to mist as he began formulating the possible futures from this moment on.

**Author's Note:**

> First fic here, first fic in a loooong time. There are a few ways I can go with this story. None are fully formed. If you have some ideas please leave me a comment. Follow Wheaton's law, please. https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/wheatons-law


End file.
